


Dizzy Miss Lizzy

by strikeo



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 10:15:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19810210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikeo/pseuds/strikeo
Summary: This is my first time posting! Just a short little evening between John and an OC... might add to it later.





	Dizzy Miss Lizzy

“You look awfully bored,” a soft voice murmured, barely audible over the roar of the jukebox and conversation.   
I looked up to see a young man, definitely a rocker based on his leather jacket, Buddy Holly glasses, and Elvis-style hair. I was vaguely surprised that I had been approached. “I’m just enjoying the scene and the music ,” I said, glancing up at him. “Sometimes the dancing feels like a chore, or distraction.”  
He moved closer to me so our shoulders touched and we were lined up together, both with backs leaning against the bar, facing the bright, busy dance floor. “Dancing adds another dimension to the music.”  
I shrugged noncommittally, too tired to make a real effort at conversation, trying to suppress the recognition of our bodies touching. I was in no place to make myself vulnerable to a man.   
“Maybe you haven’t had the right dance partner,” he persisted. I felt him turn to face me completely. My heart stirred at his insistence, and my brain scolded it.   
“If you want the truth,” I turned against my will to mirror his body, “I’ve never danced.”  
I braced myself for the inevitable gasp of disbelief and question laced with exasperation, “never danced?”  
I shrugged and gave a small smile, “never danced.”  
“I know a guy who could show how it feels to have a good dance,” he leaned further into the bar, sliding down so our eyes were level,  
“If you’d let him.”   
“Is this mysterious dancer perhaps the very same man I’m currently talking to?” I felt the corners of my mouth slightly twitch upwards.  
He winked “I’ll let you decide that for yourself.”   
And with that, he gently took my hands into his own and led me to the dance floor before I had a chance to protest.   
People surrounded us, the air was heavy with sweaty bodies and greasy food and breath polluted with alcohol. I focused on the man in front of me to keep myself from being overwhelmed. Maybe getting outside of my comfort zone would help me escape from the emotional funk that had been keeping me for the past year.  
Currently playing was “Good Golly Miss Molly” by Jerry Lee Lewis. The man pulled me in closer to him, leaving our faces only a few inches apart. He smiled at me reassuringly and began to move to the music, starting to shimmy along to the music and guiding my hands with his own. Suddenly feeling bashful, I watched our feet and tried to match the steps of my stilettos to his Chelsea boots.  
“See, love? It’s not too bad.”  
I smiled up at him, feeling warmth on my cheeks at the kindness in his voice and praying that he wouldn’t notice my blushing. “I never caught your name,” I realized.  
“John,” he said, “John Lennon, certified dance instructor. And yours?”  
“Elizabeth Adley, amateur, but highly satisfied, student.” John smiled at my playing along.   
We went on like this, John guiding my body with his through each new song, delving into small talk once we felt comfortable enough with the groove. He was captivating and warm, gentle yet confident. I loosened up as the night went on, allowing myself to carelessly laugh, sing, and twirl along with John. His hands travelled from my hands and towards the back of my head, down my back and along my waistline. I surprised myself with how I was allowing him to touch me and was even more surprised with how it didn’t bother me in the slightest. Unlike my past experiences with men, nothing John said or did seemed to cause a twinge of annoyance or discomfort. Everything felt carefree, exciting, natural.  
Dancing made me lose track of time. The final song of the night, “Twist and Shout” had finished, and the host was thanking the few remaining dancers for coming out tonight. I stepped off of the dance floor with a light heart and a mind filled with electricity, I felt like a completely different person.   
Dominated by this pheromonic high I reached my arm around John as we walked out, leaning my head on his shoulder. His arm hung over my body, fingertips resting teasingly over my pelvis.  
“Thank you for tonight,” I said once our steps slowed, “I haven’t felt this alive in ages.” The last part slipped out unexpectedly.  
He stepped towards me and took my hands again, warm brown eyes twinkling down at me and absorbing me entirely through his Buddy Holly glasses. I had never imagined myself finding such bulky glasses so incredibly sexy. “Neither have I.”  
My mind was too taken aback by his words and still buzzing from the excitement of the night to formulate a response.   
“I want to see you again,” he murmured.   
My heart leapt, causing another surge of pheromonic fearlessness, “I think I need to see you again.”  
John stepped forward and the distance between us grew impossibly smaller. I pulled at my lip with anticipation as he slowly let my hands slide from his and instead moved to delicately move along the line of my jaw with his fingertips, his other hand sliding up from the back of my neck and into my hair.  
Our lips met slowly, delicately, and my own hands felt instantaneously frozen. It was not long before I hugged him closer and our kisses became more feverish and our hands more adventurous.

It was impossible to tell how long it lasted, I just knew I never wanted it to end. When we finally pulled apart, we were breathless and smiling. His glasses were slightly skewed, his hair tousled out of its former slicked-back style and hanging in loose curls over his forehead. I found pleasure in knowing I was to blame for his disheveled appearance.   
John’s hands still cupped my face, making me feel like I was the only thing he wanted to see, the only thing he wanted to touch. “Miss Lizzie,” he murmured, smiling, face still glowing and flushed with excitement, “You make me dizzy.”


End file.
